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LOVE, LAURELS 
£? LAUGHTER 



w 




LOVE. LAURELS 
if LAUGHTER 



BY 

BE A TRICE 
HANSCOM 

Wtth \ Frontispiece 

By 

WILLIAM J. HURLBUT 



y z -v Y : r s 

FREDERICK A. STOKES 

COMPANY • Publishes* 



TS 3STl^ 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

ReCSIVED 

OnovntoHT fntpv 

0' *Sg (V- VXr- No. 

CO^ 



Copyright, 1902, 
By FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY. 



Published, September, 1902. 



To My Mother. 



Acknowledgment 






The author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of The 
Century Company in granting permission to republish 
" The Old Collector," " To Arcady," " Hearts the Same," 
" Ballade of the Rhyming Duellist," " The Return of Ma- 
bel," " The Security Needful," " Through Love's Eyes," 
" A Popular Model," " Her Love Song." " Two Poets," 
" Two Players and Their Play," " Ballade of Chevy 
Chase," " Song," " A Homeopathic Practitioner," " Two 
Women " " Advice-Masculine," «' His Special Correspon- 
dent," "The Triumph of Truth," "The Friends of Our 
Friends," " Embarked for Romance Lands," " The Best 
Authority"; to The Critic for the " Ballade of Beau- 
caire " ; to Puck, for " A Suit of Hearts," " His Answer,' 
" The Song of Tact," " Love's Games, Progressive " ; to 
Life, for " A Perplexing Question ; " to fudge, for " Apro- 
pos de Paris" ; to Vogue, for " Les Femmes Sont Diffi- 
ciles " ; to Truth, for "A Seasonable Reflection," 
" Strategy " ; to Four O' Clock, for " Desertion is Hu- 
man " ; and to The Ladies' Home four nal for " The Val- 
entine Rose," " On the Rebound," and " Her Portrait." 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



The Old Collector .... The Century 3 

Ballade of The Rhyming Duellist . The Century 7 

His " Special Correspondent " at the Fair The Century 9 

Where Dreams Abound ... 15 

Paris — from the Left Bank. ... 22 

Ballade of Beaucaire .... The Critic 26 

The Little Goat-herd .... The Century 28 

The Security Needful .... The Century 32 

Advice — Masculine .... The Century 36 

The Return of Mabel ... The Century 38 

Through Love's Eyes .... The Century 40 

As It Must Have Happened Occasionally 43 

The Song of Tact Puck 46 

Two Players and Their Play . . The Century 49 

At the Sign of " La Cruche Cassee " . The Interlude 52 

The Friends of Our Friends . . The Century 55 

Two Poets The Century 58 

Hearts the Same Though Times May Change 

The Century 60 

Two Women The Century 63 

Song .,,.... The Century 65 
IX 



CONTENTS. 

The Triumph of Truth The Century 67 

Les Deux Artistes .... 70 

Desertion Is Human .... Four O'clock 71 

Her Love Song The Century 75 

The Subtler Sight .... 77 

In Answer 79 

To Arcady The Century 83 

On the Rebound . . . Ladies' Home Journal 84 

The Suit of Hearts Puck 86 

The Barrel-Organ Man .... 88 

Embarked for Romance Lands . . The Century 91 

A New Century Letter .... 94 

A Homeopathic Practitioner . . The Century 98 

Her Portrait .... Ladies' Home Journal 101 

The Conquerors .... 103 

A Popular Model .... The Century 106 

" Les Femmes Sont Difficiles " . . . Vogue 109 

A Seasonable Reflection .... Truth no 

Love's Games, Progressive . . . Puck 112 

As Through a Glass 114 

Good-Day, Suzanne (from the French of A. de Musset) 119 

His Answer Puck 121 

A Steamer Letter 122 

The Reason Why 124 

Apropos de Paris Judge 126 

The Other Side 127 

Procrustes' Bed. ...... 131 

X 



CONTENTS. 



Dear, Tell Me Why ? (from the Italian) 




133 


Ballade of Gay Romance 


. 


. 


135 


A Perplexing Question 


. 


Life 


137 


The Game Was Whist : Rondeau 


. 


. 


133 


Les Joles Passees 


. 


. 


139 




. 






Colour Studies. Blue — Gray 


. 


. 


141 


Colour Studies. A Brown Study. 


. 


. 


143 


O Sweetheart Mine : Rondeau 


. 


. 


MS 


"Chilosa!" .... 






146 


Strategy 




Truth 


147 


The Vital Question 


. 


. 


148 


The Valentine Rose . The Ladies' Home Journal 


»5 


The Best Authority 


• 


The Century 


r 5 2 


Ballade of Chevy Chase 


. 


The Century 


154 


Love's Pathway .... 


. 




156 



XI 



LOVE, LAURELS 
& LAUGHTER 



The Old Collector. 

r* IS strange to look across the street 
X And feel that we no more shall greet 
Our middle-aged, precise, and neat, 

Old-fashioned neighbour. 
It seems, in his unlighted hall, 
His much-prized pictures on the wall 
Must miss his presence, and recall 
His loving labour. 

His manner was serene and fine, 
Fashioned on some Old-World design. 
His wit grew keener with the wine, 

And kindlier after ; 
And when the revelry rang high, 
No one could make more apt reply ; 
Yet, though they sometimes marked his sigh, 

None heard his laughter. 
3 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

He held as foolish him who dotes 

On politics or petticoats ; 

He vowed he 'd hear no talk of votes 

Or silly scandals. 
No journeys tempted him ; he swore 
He held his world within his door, 
And there he 'd dwell till life was o'er, 

Secure from vandals. 

" Why should I roam the world again ? " 
He said. " Domingo shows me Spain ; 
The dust of travel then were vain. 

What springtime chances 
To match my Corot there ! One glance 
Is worth a year of actual France. 
The real ne'er equals the romance, 

Nor fact, our fancies." 

His walls were decked with maidens fair — 
A Henner with rich auburn hair ; 
A Reynolds with the stately air 
That fits a beauty ; 
4 



THE OLD COLLECTOR. 

There glanced a Greuze with girlish grace ; 
And yonder, with the strong, calm face, 
The peasant sister of her race, 
Whose life is duty. 

He valued most the sunny day 
Because it lighted his Dupre, 
And showed his small Meissonier 

In proper fashion. 
And tender was the glance he bent 
Upon his missal's ornament, 
Whereon some patient monk had spent 

His artist passion. 

I used to love to see him pass 

His fingers o'er some rare old glass. 

He never took delight en masse ; 

He loved each treasure : 
The precious bronzes from Japan, 
The rugs from towered Ispahan, 
His rose-tint Sevres, his famous fan — 

Each had its pleasure. 
5 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

And so he held that Art was all ; 

Yet when Death made the solemn call, 

Before the desk in his long hall 

They found him sitting. 
Within the hands clasped on his breast 
An old daguerreotype was pressed — 
A sweet-faced, smiling girl, and dressed 

In frills befitting. 

Naught of his story can we know, 
Nor whose the fault so long ago, 
Nor with what meed of weal or woe 

His love was blended. 
Yet o'er his rare Delft mantel-tiles 
Bellini's sweet Madonna smiles 
As though she knew the weary miles 

For him are ended. 



Ballade of the Rhyming Duellist, 

TO my ballade, I prithee, list, 
Since haply, at the century's close, 
The world has turned romanticist, 
And hero-worship daily grows. 
I sing a knight of gallant pose, 
Of valiant heart and supple wrist, 

He of the weird and rueful nose : 
I sing the rhyming duellist. 

He was a true philanthropist : 

Of bores he quickly did dispose ; 
He caused bad actors to desist 

From adding to the public woes. 

What chivalry doth this disclose ! 
He needeth no apologist : 

Such fame with endless lustre glows, 
I sing the rhyming duellist. 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

And yet the sweets of life he missed : 

Love made him feel its bitterest throes ; 
For him was but vicarious tryst ; 

For him the thorn, and not the rose ; 

For him the bitterest pang love knows, 
To wait below while Christian kissed : 

Yet bravely bore he all his woes. 
I sing the rhyming duellist. 

ENVOY. 

Ah, Cyrano, 't is not in prose 

That we should praise the balladist ; 

So, in the form thine own song chose, 
I sing the rhyming duellist. 



His "Special Correspondent" 
at the Fair. 

DEAR NED: 
From the meadows Elysian, 
Where fashion is tending her flocks, 
Where life is served up to our vision 
As a souffle of follies and frocks ; 

From the laurels of laughter and learning 
Which Paris displays as her due, 

From her charms and vexations, I 'm turning 
To send a long letter to you. 

Each day when I draw back my curtain, 
I feel that a saint would complain 

For the weather is very uncertain, 

Which means that it 's certain to rain. 
9 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

We 've a sprinkling of various nations 

At table ; we 've talents galore, 
And, just to prevent conflagrations, 

An occasional amiable bore. 

There are tourists whose small tribulations 
Are recounted in harrowing tales 

Interspersed with such great lamentations 
As might be termed princes of wails. 

Kate says that they take the position, 

Apropos of the prices they pay, 
That there 's no truth in ancient tradition — 

Paris ne'er gave an apple away. 

There 's a youth who has been here a season 
More brief than he proudly relates, 

Who says that he can't see the reason 
Why people go back to the States. 

And he 's placed, by a just dispensation, 
Next a man who views France with a 
frown, 



"SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT." 

And who says "the U. S. is the nation," 
And he 'd just like to show us his town. 

Over beefsteakless breakfasts he 's moaning, 
Undeterred when they quote, " When in 
Rome," 

And he tells how the tables are groaning 
In that halcyon country called " home." 

Mamma revels most in art's treasures, 
Kate dotes on her dear Rue la Paix, 

While I take the idlest of pleasures 

When we stroll on some sunny old quau 

And as for the students that pass us, 
They 're such a diversified class ; 

For some seek to scale Mount Parnassus, 
And some only haunt Montparnasse. 

But whatever their aims or ambitions, 
For a season all people repair 
ii 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

To this greatest of all expositions, 
This wondrous affair of the Fair. 

It 's a huge panorama of splendours, 

A pageant of all of the arts ; 
A vision of virtu and venders, 

A mdange of music and marts. 

But you know, dear, it matters not whether 

I goto the Fair or the Bois; 
Be it stormy or sunshiny weather, 

I 'm thinking most fondly h toi. 

And you, are you making quotations 
That cause perturbation on 'change? 

Are you deep in your mining flotations, 
And talking of section and range ? 

Are you dwelling on drifts and on drilling, 
Till pocket-books bore through men's coats ? 

When the mine-shaft with water is filling, 
Are you watering stock till it floats ? 
12 



"SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT." 

Then I hold it were certainly proper, 
Since poets have sung love and gold, 

That a story of Cupid and copper 
For once should be fittingly told. 

So arrange in a fanciful fashion 
Terms technical, tender, and terse, 

And put your pursuits and your passion 
In the frame of your versatile verse. 

Mingle touches of sweet and satiric, 

Play your words with a Hood's subtle art, 

Make it dainty as Locker's best lyric, 
Picturesque as the poems of Harte. 

You must rival Praed's wittiest phrases 
And Dobson's deft touch of romance 

When you sing the perfections and praises 
Of a certain young woman in France, 

Whose new Paris gowns give their wearer 
A quite irresistible air, 
13 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

And who 's told she is growing far fairer 
Since she has been here at the Fair. 

Write it soon. I shall read it and know it 
By heart, — every word, every line, — 

And rejoice o'er a new miner poet, 
And most — that the poet is mine. 



14 



Where Dreams Abound. 

THE old street lured me on one day, 
To follow where it wound its way, 
Through dim arcades where scarce a ray 

Of light could enter; 
By grim old gates, where gargoyles odd 
Mocked at some gaily decked facade ; 
Far from the squares where tourists trod 
The city's centre. 

Past sombre walls, whose sides were scarred 
By tablets Time had worn and marred, 
Whose heights the mild-eyed pigeons guard 

In quiet leisure ; 
Until a tiny shop I spied, 
Whose leaded window vainly tried 
Behind a veil of dust to hide 

Its varied treasure. 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

This most allured me. I can pass 

A shop with vast expanse of glass, 

That flaunts its wares, like some light lass, 

To all who view it ; 
But 'neath a weatherbeaten shrine, 
As cobwebbed as a priceless wine, 
" Antiquitaten " on the sign, — 

Ne'er could I do it. 

There must I enter and explore, 
Although my purse holds slender store, 
And so I oped the aged-stained door, 

With heart swift beating ; 
And faced a bent and wrinkled crone, 
With gnarled old hands, " worn to the bone," 
Whose touch as tremulous had grown 

As was her greeting. 

The filtering light had lent its grace 
To touch a roll of altar-lace 
Into the high-light of the place; 
And gave fresh glory 
16 



WHERE DREAMS ABOUND. 

To softened tints which Time had made 
In a quaint cape of rich brocade, 
Whose tattered fringes fairly prayed 
To tell their story. 

Ah me ! What varied ghosts would rise, 
In grief or shame or mild surprise, 
If, 'mongst all these antiquities, 

Each claimed its owner. 
How many years their course have sped 
Since men have numbered with the dead 
The careless beauty whose light tread 

Thrilled that ring's donor. 

And was it rage, or greed of gain, 

Or jealousy's most bitter pain, 

Which gave that poniard its brown stain ? 

In what dark alley 
Did he who struck with deadly might 
Crouch, listening, till one came that night 
Whose stiffened eyes ne'er more saw light 

On hill or valley ? 
17 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

Who was the monk the shadows' tricks 
Summoned once more across the Styx, 
Before his carven crucifix 

Devoutly kneeling? 
Why did the still air hint of sighs, 
And smouldering fires in sombre eyes, 
And pale lips murmuring litanies 

With fervent feeling? 

Who were the peasant pair whose gains 
Were lavished on those girdle-chains, 
To dower the daughter whom fond swains 

Should seek in marriage? 
Perchance, beyond the distant seas, 
Some fair grand-daughter lolls at ease, 
Or drives in state, when she doth please, 

With pair and carriage. 

Or so I mused. The while the gloom 
Of twilight thickening through the room 
Evoked the past, as faint perfume 
Recalls the roses. 
18 



WHERE DREAMS ABOUND. 

Till in that tiny mirror there, — 
As treasured as a reliquaire — 
A winsome face peeped out, more fair 
Than art discloses. 

Call it illusion — what you will — 

I only know I treasure still 

A girl's arch glance, and that keen thrill 

It did engender. 
Within her eyes one could divine 
A coquetry demure and fine, 
Although the red lips' gracious line 

Was curved and tender. 

Just for a moment I could swear 

A light breeze ruffled the brown hair, 

And showed a shoulder gleaming bare 

'Neath filmy laces. 
It stirred the rosebud deftly placed 
Within the bodice which encased 
A slender, supple, girlish waist, 

That shamed the Graces. 
19 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

Then in a breath, the blurred old glass 

Reflected once again the mass 

Of silks and silver, beads and brass, 

In motley blending. 
Yet for the vision it had known, 
I bought it from the Norn-like crone, 
Whose dull, low, even monotone 

Seemed neverending, 

And oft I muse how, long ago, 

In some grim Schloss or gay Chdteau, 

Its dainty owner smiled to know 

By its reflection, 
That she was lovely as he vowed, 
That brave young knight, whom, 'mongst the 

crowd 
Of gay gallants, she had endowed 

With her affection. 

All idle fancies — you begin ? — 

Nay, no dream comes but once has been. 



WHERE DREAMS ABOUND. 

They are but echoes of the din 

Of long-past action. 
They are the melodies that rise 
From every heart's hid harmonies, 
And in the dreamer's art there lies 
Most satisfaction. 



21 



Paris — from the Left Bank. 

FOOLS may fight for wealth, but I drink 
the health 
Of the man in his youth's bright day, 
Who has eyes that see, and the luck to be 
In the blithe old quartier. 

What more happy fate than with heart elate 

To struggle and work and paint, 
To speed life along with a snatch of song 

Or the lilt of a rondel quaint. 

And why should I care, though my walls are 
bare, — 

My fancy has freer play, 
And my day-dreams glows lend couleur de rose 

To my gray atelier. 

22 



PARIS — FROM THE LEFT BANK. 

When the twilight hour ends my working 
power, 
I'm quit of my cinquihne. 
Though I leave my card, and my door un- 
barred, 
In case of a call from Fame. 

How the shadows mass in the dark Impasse — 

And see ! what a colour-note 
Is the perfect hue of the faded blue 

Of that ouvriers tattered coat. 

Shall I stop, perchance, for one more fond 
glance 

At the courtyard I love so well — 
Shall I skirt the quai and pursue my way 

By the jewelled Sainte-Chapelle — 

Or 'twere wiser to start down rue Bonaparte, 
On no less than grim hunger's plea, 

For I dine to.night, since my purse is light, 
At the Delambre crtmerie. 
23 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

How the gray tones blend at the daylight's 
end, 

And what gift could good-fortune bring 
That I 'd hold as dear, as to be just here 

In the heart of great France and spring ! 

I can make my peace at old St. Sulpice 

On a blue-skied festal day, 
And then fare a-field, where the forests yield 

To the rapture of life in May, 

Or through silvery rain I can cross the Seine 

By the Pont du Carrousel, 
And repace the halls on whose storied walls 

Hang les vieux maitres immortels. 

Or the Salon waits, and — blessed be the 
fates ! — 
My " Matin " is on the line, 
And my confrere s praise sets my blood ablaze 
With a finer fire than wine. 
24 



PARIS — FROM THE LEFT BANK. 

Or I stroll and dream till the sun's red gleam 

Has signalled that day is done, 
While its last rays roam to the great gold 
dome 

O'er the little Corsican. 

But wherever I go, I am sure to grow 

With beauty and art acquaint. 
Ah ! What better task could a mortal ask 

Than to paint — and paint — and paint ! 



25 



Ballade of Beaucaire. 

BACK in the days when belles and beaux 
Still called their porters and their 
chair, 
When Nash in autocratic pose, 

Ruled o'er the Pump-room revels there, 
You came to Bath, Monsieur Beaucaire, 
As barber-gamester, yet you chose 

To masque as Duke of far No-Where, — 
All for the crimson of a rose. 

Gaily you chaffed that worst of foes, 

The titled cheat you held in snare. 
Softly you sued till Heart-of-Snows 

Warmed into love's own springtime fair. 

Then came the onslaught. Debonair, 
Brave and keen-skilled you fought till close, 

Though where your waistcoat showed a tear, 
Blossomed the crimson of a rose. 
26 



BALLADE OF BEAUCAIRE. 

Taunted and scorned. Yet bitterer blows 

My Lady Mary had to bear 
As at the last, Fate did disclose 

How proud a name was yours to wear, 

When, facing all the candles' flare, 
She saw die out love's roseate glows, 

While to the fiddles' wandering air 
Crumbled the crimson of a rose. 

ENVOY. 
Prince — with a score of names to spare — 

Strange are the truths the masquer knows. 
Strange what a man will do — and dare — 

Just for the crimson of a rose. 



27 



The Little Goat-herd. 

ERE Fashion stirs from her belated slum- 
bers 
These matchless mornings of a perfect May, 
Ere tourists sally forth in countless numbers 
To " do " all Paris in a single day ; 
While yet uncrowded is the Bon-March^, 
Ere Nike's first admirer pays his call, — 

I catch the music of a sylvan lay, 
And see performed a pretty pastoral. 

Down the wide street where early traffic jostles, 

Where man most unpolitely calls to man, 
Comes, sweet as May-time mating-song of 
throstles, 
The old-time music of the pipes of Pan. 
Just as in days when world-romance began 
And every stream and woodland nymph was 
glad 

28 



THE LITTLE GOAT-HERD. 

To hear the reed sing how the river ran, — 
So pipes to-day a blue-bloused peasant lad. 

And lured as then by music's fascination, 
Six grave-faced goats proceed with mien de- 
mure, 
As who should say : " No bovine imitation 
Should e'er be tried. Goat's milk is always 

pure." 
Gray seem the streets, and sombre and ma- 
ture 
Our town-bred lives in these be-crowded days 

Beside the careless lilt that serves as lure, 
Beside this glimpse of woodland wiles and ways. 

Meantime a dog, with guardian devotion, 
Watches and warns of dangers they must 
flee, 
All the wild rush of modern locomotion — 
He guides and guards this tour from Arcady. 
His is a deep responsibility, 
Lightened by love and one bright hope alone, 
29 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

For genial Jacques at yon small boucherie, 
Watches each day to toss to him a bone. 

And so they pass. The lithe-limbed, blue- 
bloused peasant 
Piping, blithe-hearted, his primeval lay, 
The goats serene, the watch-dog ever present, 
Vanish from sight on some far-homeward 

way. 
I hope when tender twilight lulls the day, 
They reach, at last, some quiet, rustic spot, 
A clear, cool, pebbly brook that winds in 
play 
Through fragrant fields; a neat vine-covered 
cot, 

Where waits, perchance, a Phyllis shy and 
slender, 
As fond and fair as e'er by poet sung. 
For lads still love and lassies still are tender, 
Our world is old, but Love is always young. 
30 



THE LITTLE GOAT-HERD. 

Still is Romance our only common tongue 
While all our worldly dialects disagree : 

And so I dream they stroll soft shades among, 
Beneath the song-stirred skies of Arcady. 



3* 



The Security Needful. 

I SAUNTERED down the garden walk, 
For once regardless of the posies. 
Though scarlet shafts of hollyhock 

Vied in their splendour with the roses, 
Though lilies laid their bosoms bare, 

And pansies tipped their witching faces, 
I really was too warm to care : 
I only sought for shady places. 

And found, at length, a perfect spot, 

Cool, breezy, shaded, and secluded, 
And, crowning joy of all the lot ! 

A cosy, rustic seat included. 
I sat me down, warm but elate; 

Ere long a cooling circulation 
Restored me to my normal state, 

And so I turned to meditation. 
32 



THE SECURITY NEEDFUL. 

" How easily we men are blest ! " 

So I began my modest musing; 
" Our simplest pleasures are our best, 

And pastoral joys are to my choosing. 
Here, shaded from the glowing sun, 

What do I lack? But one thing only." 
For here it struck me that for one 

The seat was rather large and lonely. 

" Yes, solitude is tame at best, 

But solitude h deux is charming ; 
Were Helen here, I should be blest 

Beyond all fear of earthly harming." 
I had not told the maid my love — 

The time had never seemed propitious ; 
But once I helped her clasp her glove, 

And oh, the moment was delicious ! 

" Never the loved one and the time 
And place together," said the poet. 

I vowed it was a foolish rhyme, 

And thought that I 'd proceed to show it. 

33 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

" Here and to-night, beneath the moon, 
I '11 bring the maid, and ask her whether 

She will be mine : soon, very soon, 

1 11 have love, time, and place together." 

A shadow fell across the grass, 

And 'neath a parasol held neatly 
Came Helen — with Lieutenant Cass ! 

She smiled upon him, oh, so sweetly : 
He had an air of conscious bliss, — 

I felt a sudden, deep dejection, — 
Then, unrebuked, he stole a kiss 

Beneath that parasol's protection. 

Enough. Once more I trod the walk, 

This time as though a demon prodded, 
The while from every swaying stalk 

The saucy blossoms smiled and nodded. 
" It is n't nice," they seemed to say, 

" To find you 're disregarded, is it ? 
Perhaps you '11 chance to glance this way 

Next time you pay this walk a visit." 
34 



THE SECURITY NEEDFUL. 

I am a wiser man to-day 

For one short hour of introspection, 
The while I took my homeward way, 

For I evolved this sage reflection : 
Who first gets time and place secured 

May find his love go all unheeded, 
But he who has his love secured 

Will find the time and place when needed. 



35 



Advice— Masculine. 

WHILE Cupid sways this mundane 
sphere 
And men are only human, 
She is most wise who won't appear 
Too reasonable a woman. 

Alack that Fate ordained it so ! 

Tis passing melancholy ; 
But naught that Reason e'er can show 

Is half so sweet as Folly. 

In arrant whims some witchcraft lies 

That logic ever misses, 
And common-sense looks plain to eyes 

That seek capricious blisses. 

While unto every lover's fire 
It adds a wealth of fuel, 
36 



ADVICE-MASCULINE. 



If she who doth his love inspire 
Is sometimes rather cruel. 

Know what you will, mesdames, but know 

The acme of all Knowledge 
Is Tact, albeit, we cannot show, 

Its chair in any college. 

Keep some small foibles, — for I deem, 
You have them, being human, — 

And so be what you do not seem, — 
A reasonable woman. 



37 



The Return of Mabel. 

SPREAD the news, ye kettledrums, 
Let the town applaud ; 
Home the conquering Mabel comes 
From a trip abroad. 

Gay frou-frou of Paris gowns 

Sounds upon the stairs ; 
Hats from Virot's are the crowns 

Which she proudly wears. 
Such a swirl of perfumed lace, 

Glint of jewelled gaud — 
These proclaim in every place 

Mabel 's been abroad. 

Tales of foreign triumph come ; 

Dukes thrilled at her nod ; 
Earls before her charms were dumb : 

Flower-strewn paths she trod ; 
38 



THE RETURN OF MABEL. 

Bent were many titled knees ; 

Every tongue did laud. 
'T was to win such joys as these 

Mabel went abroad. 

Says she thought the Louvre a bore ; 

Liked the Bon Marche" 
Fontainbleau ? How it did pour ! 

Spoiled her hat that day. 
Art ? So stupid ! Nice caf/s. 

Never heard of Claude. 
Not in study were the days 

Mabel spent abroad. 

So she 's won her coronet. 

Little do I care ; 
Naught have I of vain regret ; 

'T is n't my affair. 
There 's no happier man than I : 

I 'm to marry Maud, 
Mabel's sister. What care I 

That Mabel's been abroad I 
39 



Through Love's Eyes. 

WHAT John would do" was all her 
theme, 
The burden of her song ; 
I knew him not, but it did seem 
The list of deeds was long. 

Did fiction sketch a hero bold, 

Who scaled some Alpine peak 
Where starry edelweiss unfold, 

One precious flower to seek ; 

Or did he save from fire or flood 

Of lives a score or two, 
She said, — just as I knew she would, — 

" That 's just what John would do ! " 

Perchance she read of one who foiled 

A villain's subtle plan 
40 



THROUGH LOVE'S EYES 

By counterplot that neatly spoiled 
The scheme of wicked man ; 

Or did the lover in the book 

With passion sigh and sue, 
She said, with reminiscent look, 

" That 's just what John would do ! " 

The war broke out, and then we read 

Of valour on the sea ; 
But still the selfsame words she said, 

With tender pride, to me. 

Until (this broke the camel's back, 

And broke it badly, too), 
When Hobson sunk the Merrimac 

" 'T was just what John would do ! " 

Then I demanded sight of John — 
Tall, awkward, twenty-four ; 

He twirled his thumbs, he trod upon 
My skirt — he was a bore. 
4i 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

But how he loved her ! As he ought, 

For well she loved him, too ; 
And much I marvelled as I thought 

What love (like John) would do. 

Love's rosy light straightway conceals 

All flaws in Nature's plan ; 
The angel in the maid reveals 

The hero in the man. 

With such illusions Reason tries, 

But all in vain, to cope ; 
For every lover thinks his eyes 

Are like a microscope. 

While Reason scoffs, — " the light that lies," — 

Love laughs at Reason, too, 
And says through softened light the eyes 

May get a truer view. 

Nor mine Love's logic to deplore ; 

For if the truth were said, 

All, all she said of John, and more, 

I know is true of Ned. 
42 



As It Must Have Happened 
Occasionally. 

IN an ivy-trellised cottage 
By a vast expanse of wood, 
Lived a shy and winsome maiden, 

As romances say there should ; 
Eyes as blue as myosotis, 

Shape as slender as a fawn, 
Cheeks aglow with dainty flushes, 
Like the goddess of the dawn. 

Every morning from her window 
Would she gaze with wistful eyes, — 

Would he come, that gallant horseman, 
Who should see her with surprise, 

Then with rapture, love, and longing ; 
Who should woo and win and wed — 
43 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

As they did without exception 
In the stories she had read. 

But the spring flowered into summer, 

And the summer winged its flight, 
And the autumn harvests ripened, 

And the winter snows were white ; 
While each night she pressed her pillow 

With a blonde, impatient head, 
And each morning to her mirror, 

" Will he come to-day ? " — she said. 

But when once again the forest 

Robed its limbs in dainty green, 
When the lilacs' fragrant blossoms 

Lent their purple to the scene ; 
When the raptured birds, full-throated, 

Spent themselves in passioned song, — 
Every tender force of Nature 

Whispered — " It will not be long." 

Oft the highway's white dust lifted, 
But the postman clattered by ; 

44 



HAPPENED OCCASIONALLY. 

Or some yokel drove his oxen, 

Or there passed the village fly : 
Once there was a youth who halted, 

Lips a-smile and eyes a-light, 
But 't was sun-browned Tom, the farmer, 

And she waited for her knight. 

******* 

Came one perfect day in summer 
When the earth seemed joy-opprest, 

And — " He'll come to-day " — she murmured. 
THAT DAY PASSED LIKE ALL THE 
REST. 



45 



The Song of Tact. 

(" // ne fant pas parler du corde dans la maison 
d'un pendu") 

YOU 'LL agree, I am sure, *t is only too 
true 
And a sad and deplorable fact, 
That the things we 'd give most to unsay and 
undo 
Were caused by a lacking of tact. 

Now the French have a proverb as clear as a 
bell 
On this subject — (you 've heard it, I hope) — 
" In the house of a man who was hanged," — 
(Mark it well ! )— 
" One never should mention a rope." 
46 



THE SONG OF TACT. 



If you call on a maid who is growing passte, 
Do not dwell on " youth's 'vantage to cope 

With all ills" — "girlhood's flush, far too 
dainty to stay " — 
Beware ! You are mentioning rope ! 



If you meet an acquaintance whose stocks 
have gone down, 
Do not talk of " big profits in soap," — 
Or " Smith's shrewd deal in wheat " — or, "the 
great luck of Brown ! — " 
You are certainly mentioning rope ! 



If you tell the plain heiress of " men who 're 
for sale," — 
Or the sick of " a case beyond hope," — 
Or talk " crime " to a man with a brother in 
jail, 
Have a care ! You are mentioning rope ! 
47 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

So the rule will hold good in all cases, you '11 
find, 
If you 're talking with peasant or Pope, — 
" In the house of a man who was hanged," — 
(Bear in mind ! ) — 
" One never should mention a rope ! " 



48 



Two Players and their Play. 

PRISCILLA wears a fetching coat 
Of brightest scarlet hue, 
And 'neath her jaunty golfing skirt 

She shows a dainty shoe 
(Two shoes, in fact, but for my verse 
One shoe will have to do). 

Priscilla has of clubs a score ; 

She chatters all the while 
Of putters, drivers, mashies, cleeks, 

Of stance and swing and style ; 
You 'd think, to hear her talk the game, 

That she could drive a mile. 

But when Priscilla takes those clubs, 

Upon a summer day, 
And marches to the teeing-ground. 

I much regret to say 

49 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

That, spite of all this festal guise, 
Priscilla cannot play. 

She tops her ball ; then divots fly ; 

In bunkers long she stays ; 
She foozles all along the course 

In most astounding ways : 
In sooth, it is an eerie thing, 

The way Priscilla plays. 

Our champion at golf is Ned ; 

He has a wondrous knack 
Of doing holes in three or four ; 

He brings each trophy back : 
And yet he likes to play with Pris — 

Odd, for a golfiac ! 

But there's a game Priscilla plays 
With more than mortal art : 

In every witching glance she gives, 
Flies Cupid's deadliest dart ; 

It is a game of hearts, wherein 
She captures every heart. 
50 



TWO PLAYERS AND THEIR PLAY 

Ned plays at this with all his strength, 

But oh, his skill is small ; 
The conquering monarch of the green 

Waits bluely in her hall ; 
Worse is it to address a maid 

Than to address a ball. 

And yet — beginner's luck ! — he wins, 

For rules are not the same ; 
Who presses when he plays for hearts 

Will win no word of blame : 
Pris loves him, though he is, she says, 

A foozler at that game. 



5' 



At the Sign of 
"La Cruche Cass£e." 

ON my wall hangs a dainty porcelain plate, 
Where a tiny maiden, disconsolate, 
And a cat that is far from gay, 
Have brought to a yellow-haired lad who sits 
On a bench, a pitcher broken in bits, 
Which, while she weeps, he glues and fits 
At the sign of " La Cruche Cass£e." 

There are many proofs of his skill in view, 
Jars and pitchers made " good as new ! " 

And done " a meilleur marcht" 
While from his signboard a mended plate 
Suspended, is holding a great iron weight, 
To show that the glue is as sure as fate 

At the sign of " La Cruche Cass6e ! " 
52 



LA CRUCHE CASSEE.' 



The signboard is tinted a wonderful pink, 
And its list contains every known thing, I 
think, 
That could ever be " raccommoctte" — 
The floor is of tile that is really fine, — 
At the back is a wonderful climbing vine, — 
And the picture by Greuze, which serves as a 
sign, 
The sign of " La Cruche Cass£e ! " 



The little maid's heart with distress seems 

filled, 
And the kitten is mourning the milk that was 
spilled, 
But I think, from the eager way 
That the dear little mender is working, 

that he 
Is just as in love with the maid as can be, 
And is dreaming of marriage and kisses and 
glee, 
At the sign of " La Cruche Cassee ! " 
51 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

What is the moral ? The cat's inclined 
To — "Who enters, leaves hope (of the milk) 
behind ! " 
But the one I prefer to say, 
Is — One may mend all things if one has the 

art, 
Or the luck to apply at the proper mart — 
This rule will apply to each broken heart — 

Hey ! The sign of " LaCruche Cass£e ! " 



54 



The Friends of our Friends. 

LEST we grow by degrees to be too much 
at ease, 
Kind Heaven in discipline sends, 
As a means true and tried to reduce any pride, 
The wonderful friends of our friends. 

We have friends keen and kind, who are just 
to our mind, 

Whose mood with our mood always blends ; 
But we have to endure, as an ill without cure. 

The marvellous friends of our friends. 

It may happen our name has become known 
to fame, 
That a critic our verses commends ; 
But we sink in our shoes when we read the 
reviews 
Of the books by the friends of our friends. 
55 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

Though we journey afar to the most distant 
star, 
Though we go to the universe-ends, 
We shall meet with the bore who has done 
it, — and more, — 
And he's such a good friend of our friends. 



Should it chance we have bowed in the draw- 
ing-room's crowd, 
Where royalty favour extends, 
There is not a crowned head of the living or 
dead 
But has smiled on some friend of our friends. 



Should caprice rule the day, and our whim 
have its way, 
It is never our friends it offends, 
But 't will shock, so they fear, those proper, 
severe, 
And remarkable friends of our friends. 
56 



THE FRIENDS OF OUR FRIENDS. 

So in each spot and sphere we are outclassed, 
't is clear, 
Till to ruin our temper it tends; 
We could take out our lease of an infinite 
peace, 
Were it not for the friends of our friends. 



57 



Two Poets. 

HE writes great odes which critics praise 
And friends place on their table, 
While I turn every thought and phrase 
To make a song to Mabel. 

Fame is his guerdon, art his creed, 

He wears distinction's label ; 
But I — I have the greater meed 

When I win praise from Mabel. 

Fair is the maid, more fair by far 

Than aught in fact or fable ; 
There ne'er had been a Trojan war 

Had Paris first seen Mabel. 

Oh, were my castles not in Spain, 
What gems and costly sable 
58 



TWO POETS. 



And priceless lace would I obtain 
As fitting gifts to Mabel ! 

So when I read how papers vie 

For news of him, by cable, 
" Poor fellow ! " I can only sigh, 

" You are not loved by Mabel." 

Though fame attaches to his name 

In all the tongues of Babel, 
My own can greater honour claim 
When it is borne by Mabel. 

And though he's reached Parnassus' height, 

Though critics call him able, 
Some much prefer the songs I write— 

I do, and so does Mabel. 



59 



Hearts the same, though Times 
may Change. 

WHEN dryad-haunted groves were gay 
With nymphs' and satyrs' frolic, 
Youth told its love in tuneful lay 

And wooed in style bucolic ; 
And Corydon by Phyllis' side 

Strolled slow through leafy ways, 
While young Dan Cupid served as guide 
In those idyllic days. 

Now, in this hurried age of ours, 

Untended are the flocks ; 
For Corydon leaves sylvan bowers 

To speculate in stocks, 

And, plunging in with " bulls " and " bears," 

In Wall street's rush and jam, 
60 



TIMES MAY CHANGE 



He deals in margins, sells his shares, 
And proves he is no lamb. 



No aimless walks does Phyllis take. 

She marches briskly off, 
With clubs of every size and make, 

To play a game of golf ; 
And neatly does she make her " tee," 

And clear her cry of " Fore ! " 
She drives and putts most gracefully, 

And makes a splendid score. 



Yet still Romance doth play its part : 

Upon the links to-day 
Young Corydon poured forth his heart, 

Nor did she say him nay ; 
But quick she dimpled when he sent 

(Such guile have lovers all) 
The caddie, who reluctant went, 

To find a phantom ball. 
61 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

"A sordid age," the critics say, 

" And sentiment is over." 
Why, Love holds autocratic sway ! 

Youth always is a lover. 
And so *t will ever be the same 

Where there is lass and laddie. 
Howe'er the world may change the game, 

Dan Cupid is the caddie. 



62 



Two Women. 

THERE are two women whom well I 
wot, 
And one is clever and one is not. 

One labours, her livelihood to gain, 
With a " really almost masculine brain," 
And the skilful work from her ready pen 
Has won applause from the world of men ; 
And the labels she wears in the social mart 
Are " brilliant " and " witty " and " keen " and 
" smart." 

And one just gets, by the sunniest smiles 
And the most transparent of feminine wiles, 
The things she wants, from her own liege lord, 
By whom she is petted and quite adored ; 
63 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

And if there are other much-coveted ends, 
She has always a host of obliging friends 
Who are more than delighted to be of use 
To " such a dear little helpless goose." 

There are two women whom well I wot, 
And one is clever and one is not. 



64 



Song. 



BUT yestereve my lad was here, 
And now he's gone away ; 
He said he loved me passing dear, 
I had no word to say. 

'T is more than kind 

I 'd be, he 'd find, 

If he should come to-day. 



He begged I 'd give him one small kiss 

But I — I said him nay ; 
It seems I would not greatly miss 
So small a thing to-day. 

Have what he would, 
My laddie should, 
But oh, he's gone away ! 
65 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

What care I for my Sunday gown, 

My hat with feathers gay ? 
I will not glance at lads in town 
When he has gone away. 

I 'd let him know 

I love him so, 

If he were here to-day. 

Who 's that ? My lad ? He didn 't go ? 

He 's turning in this way ? 
Quick ! Where 's the gown he fancies so ? 
My heart ! What shall I say ? 
I must be sure 
To be demure — 
How can I be, to-day ! 



<?6 



The Triumph of Truth. 

He. 

IF you should say that you couldn *t guess 
What I Ve tried to tell you the summer 
through, 
Come, Nellie, honestly now, confess, 
Would that be true ? 

She. 
If you should say that though girls galore 
Have been jolly and chummy, and quite 
liked you, 
You were never really in love before, 
Would that be true ? 

He. 

If you should say, from the very start 
You have always fancied that I liked Prue, 
67 



i V E . I A U R E i S . A N D L A r G H T E K 
I'hat you RlUSt take time ere you know your 

heart, 

Would that be true? 



She, 

It' you should say that you never flirt, 

That you never Stay at your club till two. 

That you think Pauline is both flat and pert. 
Would that be true ? 



He, 

1: you should say you regret I 'm rich. 

That you 'd like me better without a sou. 
That you 'd love a flat, and to cook and stitch, 

Would that be true - 



bHE. 

Ri : if, perchance, I am tar too wise 

To fib in the manner that most ^irls do — 



the ': :h. 



And if, abjuring the usual lies, 

I should say, of all gifts that I ever knew, 
d your predecessors form quite a line) 
e dearest, the sweetest, the best is you, 

Is it true that you 11 promise you will be 
mi: 

, : . • 



Les Deux Artistes. 

THE house was packed to the very doors, 
For the actress was Victorine 
In her greatest play ; and the royal box 
Held her Majesty, the Queen. 

Each supreme in her world and way, 

Beautiful both and young, 
Envied both by the rest of the world, 

Flattered and feted and sung. 

And yet, at the end, as applause rings high 

In recalls for Victorine, 
" But hers is the life to lead ! " pouts she, 

With an envious glance at the Queen. 

And as at the Ambassador's flattering phrase 

The Queen's fair head inclines, 
" 'T were easy to play one's role" she sighs, 

" If one were given the lines ! " 
70 



Desertion is Human. 



MY collie and I, this crisp night in Octo- 
ber, 
Are watching the sparks from the pine-log's 

bright blaze : 
And I '11 own I am feeling decidedly sober 
As I dream, o'er my pipe, of those dear old 
June days, 

When the whole earth exulted in sunshiny 

weather, 
And donned her flower-'broidered mantle of 

green ; 
And Phyllis and I went a-strolling together, 
Through a love-lighted land where she ruled 

as the queen. 

7i 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

There was never so dainty, bewitching a 

maiden 
As Phyllis, in some much-befrilled muslin 

gown, 
With a Gainsborough shading soft eyes, 

laughter-laden, 
Or hiding shy glances 'twixt lashes of brown. 

I saw the whole world with a roseate vision, 

And worked at my Art with a hearty good- 
will, 

And the sketches I made were of meadows 
Elysian 

Where Loves ran a-riot — I have them all still ! 

What ended it all ? Oh, young Crcesus came 
wooing — 

The old, hackneyed story ! — Yet, somehow, it 
seemed 

Just as hard to endure when it caused my un- 
doing 

As though it were something unheard-of, un. 

dreamed ! 

72 



DESERTION IS HUMAN. 

Well, I have my Art, and my pipe, and my 

collie, 
But pictures are canvas, and statues but stone — 
The pipe has gone out, and one doesn't feel 

jolly 
When he sits by a smouldering fire quite alone ! 

Come up here, old fellow — there — head on my 

knee — so. 
You give me affection that's certain to last ; 
And we'll cheer up, old dog, for, since what is 

must be so, 
It can't help bad matters to mourn o'er the 

past, 

So I'll fill up my pipe and then start the smoke 

curling, 
And put a fresh log on the smouldering fire : — 
The room grows more cheerful, for Comfort 

is furling 
Her wings, to remain in the place of Desire. 



73 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

And those sketches! They're clever! Judi- 
ciously scattered 

They 'd illustrate many a poem or tale — 

'T is the way of the world, when our idols are 
shattered 

To market their pedestals — SKETCHES 
FOR SALE! 



74 



Her Love-Song, 



SHE wrote a song where love and longing 
blended 
Into a flood of feeling deep and strong; 
It seemed that when her dream of love was 
ended 
She voiced each heart-throb in impassioned 
song. 

Of those who read it, one, with listless fingers 

Turning the pages of the magazines, 
Smiled a vain smile. " And so the memory 
lingers. 
Poor little soul ! Of course 't is me she 
means." 

75 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

One read it at his club, and groaned in spirit : 

" Oh, sweetheart, had I known ! " Then 

threw it down, 

Vowed the grate smoked, — no comfort sitting 

near it, — 

And gave his wife her wished-for Paris gown. 

One read it with moist eyes, and then re-read 

it, 
And kissed the page. " Would I had been 

the man 
You loved, beloved ! " Sighed then as he said 

it, 
Nor knew the race was yet to him who ran. 

Because she wrote it for a simple reason : 
For a new hat her girlish soul did long, 

And funds were low. It was the Easter sea- 
son. 
You see the point ? She had to write that 



song ! 



76 



The Subtler Sight. 

THE world, that thinks itself so wise, 
Declares that Love is blind. 
Alack ! He does not use his eyes 

Who sees but with the mind : 
Love gives a keener, subtler sight, 

As Prue and I agree, 
We Ve found it so since that dear night 
She gave her heart to me. 

The sky— 't was gray at best before— 

Now turquoise clear discloses, 
And florists I knew not of yore 

Now save their choicest roses ; 
While all my thoughts and all my dreams 

Are how to give her joy — 
Her little brother really seems 

A very pleasant boy. 
77 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

What filled my life before ! No doubt 

There was some dull routine 
Of orifice, dinner, ball or rout — 

How poor it seems and mean ! 
But now at four each day she brews 

Two fragrant cups of tea, 
The while we sip, we plan and choose 

The cottage that 's to be. 

For cynic wits, whose minds are dense 

With knowledge worldly-wise, 
The dingy light of common-sense 

Seems brightest earthly prize ; 
Yet Fate, perhaps, to them is kind, 

As Prue and I agree, 
They do not know they are the blind, 

That only Love can see. 



78 



In Answer. 

HAVE I altered, you ask in your letter, 
Which came but a short hour ago, — 
Except that my French is much better, 
Dear Ned, I can truly say "No." 

You " fear that the glamour and glitter 

Of frivolous fashion in France 
Will make some bright title seem fitter 

Than our far more humble romance." 

Well, I've had several excellent offers 
To adorn some half-ruined chdteaux 

With my beaux yeux — and my coffer's — 
But I answered decidedly — " No." 

'T was not that the castles were crumbling— 
I thrill o'er a mouldering moat, 
79 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

And on towers that are tottering and tumbling 
And rambling old ruins I dote. 

But though the most picturesque portals 
Gain beauty as ruined they grow, 

My taste in mere masculine mortals 
Prefers them grown upright, you know. 

And I hold to that primitive notion 

That love is the luckiest lot, 
And I don't care a fig for devotion 

That must be inspired by a dot. 

So, untroubled by titled ambitions 

And unmoved by French fervour and woe, 

" Non, merci" — I say, with additions, 
Like our gallant old friend Cyrano. 

I 've heard all the news of the city, 
The scandals, surmises, and sales, — 

For I 've had sixteen pages from Kitty 
Criss-crossed with minutest details. 
80 



IN ANSWER. 



She says she 's had many a visit 

From a not-inconsolable beau, 
It 's not you she is hinting at, is it ? 

But of course I am sure you '11 say " No." 



She tells me Aunt Prue 's in a flurry 
When the new rector calls— at her age ! 

That Carrie is coaching in Surrey, 

And Charlotte has gone on the stage ; 



That John went unscathed through the panic, 

But now is determined to go 
To the ends of the earth— per Germanic — 

In case she persists in her " No." 



She says — But enough of her chatter — 
I 'm afraid you were blue when you wrote. 

How I 'd like to discuss — any matter 

With my head on your dear shabby coat, 
Si 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 



You 're impatient, you bid me remember, 
Dear Ned, I *m so glad it is so, 

And since you insist on September 
Be sure that I shall not say " No." 



82 



To Arcady. 



FN varying tones they make their plea, 
-*- The young and old and worldly wise, 
Cajoling, plaintive, wistfully : 
" Tell us the way to Arcady ; 

We fain would see Arcadian skies, 
Would live that wondrous life and free ; 
Tell us the way to Arcady." 

But I — I sing : " Though there must be 
Full many a path that wends its way 

By hedge and woodland, dale and lea, 

To that dear land of Arcady, 
I Ve but a single word to say : 

Wherever Phyllis treads with me, 

The way leads straight to Arcady." 



83 



On the Rebound. 

OF course, we 'd met the winter through 
At balls and teas, but then, you 
know, 
I thought the world of Ted Carew, 
Who 'd been devoted, and I knew 
John was in love with Kittie Snow 

So Tuesday night, at Kittie's ball, 

When they announced she was engaged 

To Ted Carew, I thought I 'd fall 

Or faint — I really can't recall 

When I 've been so stunned or enraged ! 

She 's such a scheming girl — and then 

Oh, lots of times, I Ve heard Ted say 
He thought she looked so silly when 
She tried to flirt. Oh, dear, some men 

Can't keep the same mind through the day ! 
84 



ON THE REBOUND. 



Well, Wednesday came, and as 'twas Lent, 

And I was blue about it all, 
I thought the day would be best spent 
In some good work, and so I went 

To take flowers to the hospital. 

And passing by, who should I see 

As at their door, with all my flowers 
I stood, but John ! He said that he 
Thought time best spent in charity— 
I said those were my happiest hours. 

Well, that began it. Then we found 

Our tastes alike in everything. 
We think respect 's the proper ground 
For love, and ours is strong and sound. 

Mine 's twice as big as Kittie's ring ! 



85 



The Suit of Hearts. 

A Whist Problem. 

TIME was when only stately dames 
With silvered hair, and old gallants 
Accounted whist the queen of games, 

While gay youth revelled in the dance ; 
But times and women change ; — to-day 

Tennis has palled and Tennyson, 
While Phyllis studies up the play 
Of Cavendish and Hamilton. 

But when my suit of hearts I show 

Her keen finesse she puts to use, 
So that each day I never know 

Whether V 11 feel like king or deuce, 
Till, "Tell me, dear! " I cry at length, 

" How can my wished-for point be won? 
You know in hearts are all my strength, 

My diamond is a singleton ! " 
86 



THE SUIT OF HEARTS. 

Her rippling laughter rings out clear, 

And makes my heart go rub-a-dub. 
" I think," she says, "you need not fear 

If you will discard every club ! " 
" Dear, learn ! " I cry, as to resist 

My ardour she makes demonstration, 
" The charm of kisses, as of whist, 

Lies in the test of duplication ! " 



87 



The Barrel-Organ Man. 

THERE is a man who ne'er despairs 
What e'er may be the day. 
Though tattered are the clothes he wears, 
Though people give him stony stares, 
He just grinds out the same old airs 
In just the same old way. 

It is the barrel-organ man : 

He simply does the best he can. 

Some days no friendly windows raise, 

No hand bestows a dime ; 
For him there sounds no word of praise., 
" Get out ! " is not a soothing phrase, 
But he — he bides his time. 

This patient barrel-organ man, 
He grinds away as best he can. 
88 



THE BARREL-ORGAN MAN. 

Yet sometimes little children greet 

His melodies with glee, 
And pennies jingle on the street 
And childish voices ring out sweet, 
And " More, please," is their plea. 

And then the barrel-organ man, 
He grinds as gaily as he can. 

But when I " take my pen in hand," 

To write a bit of verse, 
Just as the Muse's wings have fanned 
My brow, he takes his patient stand, 
And grinds until I feel the brand 
Of Cain is not a curse. 

But still the barrel-organ man, 
He grinds as loudly as he can. 

His repertoire, it changeth not, 

I know its fatal blight : 
" Sweet Alice " ne'er will be forgot, 
Next, " Old Kentucky Home " 's the spot, 

89 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

And then, forsooth, there faileth not 
Lilt of " the old town to-night." 

Thus doth the baleful organ-man 
Destroy my peace whene'er he can. 

And still he comes with steadfast mind 

To haunt the house each day, 
Through summer suns and winter wind, 
He still doth come and grind and grind 
And grind and grind and grind and GRIND 
Until my mite I pay. 

O persevering organ-man ! 

Teach me your patience if you can. 



90 



Embarked for Romance Lands, 

STARTING under sunny skies 
On a foreign trip : 
Friends with flowers and gay goodbyes — 
" What a pleasant ship ! " 

Seated at the captain's right, 

Laughter, jest, and quip 
Make the dinner-table bright 

On the outward trip. 

State-room walls begin to sway ; 

How the boat does dip ! 
Through the port-hole comes the spray— 

" What a rolling ship ! " 

Soon the stewardess appears. 
" Coffee ? " " Not a sip." 
9* 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

Seven days seem seven years — 
" Such an endless trip ! " 

Rolled up in a steamer-chair, 
Wan and pale of lip ; 
Still, 't is better in the air. 
" See ! we 've passed a ship ! " 

" Won't you use these glasses ? " " Pray, 
Who 's your book by ? Gyp ? " 

" No, indeed ; Francois Coppee." 
" Crossed before ? " " Tenth trip." 

" Won't you walk a bit ? Do try." 

Time begins to slip 
Rather more serenely by. 

" I quite like this ship." 

" In to-morrow." " What, so soon ! " 

Captain's dinner. " Hip, 
Hip, hurrah ! " — a toast — a tune — 

" What a jolly trip ! " 
9 2 



EMBARKED FOR ROMANCE LANDS. 

Plans to meet again — goodbyes — 

Clasp of finger-tip ; 
Wise old stars wink smiling eyes — 

" All's well " on the ship. 



93 



A New-Century Letter. 

WHEN in years to come they say 
Of the art that's born to-day 
What they 're saying now of Lawrences and 
Lelys, 
When the fashions we hold dear 
Shall be classified as " queer ", 

And they talk about the grand old stage at 
Daly's; 

When our freshly chiselled stone 
To a gray old age has grown, 

When the ivy hides some architectural blun- 
ders, 
When the times men drove a horse — oh, 
Seem, like racing on the Corso, 

To belong to some romantic age of wonders ; 
94 



A NEW-CENTURY LETTER. 

When the then musicians teach 
That though their composers reach 

To a richer realm of higher complication, 
One can still derive some pleasure 
(Though of course in lesser measure) 

From the simpler old Wagnerian orchestra- 
tion ; 

When the children love to hear 
How great-grandsires they revere 

Fought and fevered in campaign and camps 
of Cuba, 
And the studious novelist delves 
In old chests and dusty shelves 

For his data on " In Vengeance for Ma- 
juba" ; 

When, beneath a headstone, I 
In some quiet close shall lie 

Undisturbed by that new age's agitation, 
For I trust no weird invention 
Will then call the dead's attention 
To the ever-feared decadence of the nation — 
95 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

(Though inventors skill, it seems, 
Makes what once were wildest dreams 

Now as commonplace as chat of village cron- 
ies, 
And there 's naught that 's past believing 
That they may not be achieving 

Through the magic of their Teslas and 
Marconis.) 

Then, it may not matter much 
That your lightest finger-touch 

Has the power to set my heartstrings all 
a-thrilling, 
That no melody e'er heard 
Is as sweet as your least word, 

Or the rapture of your laughter lightly ril- 
ling. 

In a hundred years, in short, 
It may be of small import 

What reply you make to this my declaration, 
96 



A NEW-CENTURY LETTER. 

But let that be as it may, 
'T is the question of to-day 

That outranks all talk of trusts and annexa- 
tion. 



As you know, my bank account 
Is a very snug amount, 

So there is no fear of poverty to daunt you. 
Ah, Priscilla, answer " Yes " — 
For you cannot — can you ? — guess 

How much — how more than much it is I 
want you. 

You shall have a country-place, 
Town-house, yacht, old gems and lace, 

You shall have the happy writer of these 
pages — 
Will you ? — Then I fondly vow 
You'll not only bless me now, 

Dear, I think 't will matter even through 
the ages ! 

97 



A Homeopathic Practitioner. 



o 



NE day while strolling down a lane, 
I found young Strephon lying 
Beneath a tree, in bitter pain, 
Wounded and wan and sighing. 



Within his hand he held a dart, 
From out Dan Cupid's quiver, 

And while he plained his broken heart, 
His tears ran like a river. 

" O cruel Cupid ! " loud he cried, 
" The wound you gave is mortal, 

For Chloe has my suit denied, 
And turned me from her portal. 

Ah, woe is me ! I die of love — " 
Just then the air was thrilling 
9 8 



A HOMEOPATHIC PRACTITIONER. 

With rippling laughter from above, 
Tuneful as song-birds' trilling ; 

And on a branch that gently swayed 

Sat Cupid, deftly stringing 
His bow ; then to the wound he 'd made, 

Another dart went winging. 

" O Coward ! " I cried, " the hurt he had 
From others should secure him." 

" Nay," laughed the wanton little lad ; 
" It will not kill but cure him : 

For though the former shaft I sent 
Was tipped with Chloe's flushes, 

Unto the latter one I lent 

The charm of Celia's blushes." 

And when, next evening, I espied 

Celia and Strephon straying 
Through woodland pathways, side by side, 

With lover-like delaying, 

LofC.* " 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

11 Faith ! Dr. Cupid," whispered I, 
" Your cures are made instanter; 

The famous motto you apply, 
* . . . similibus curantur.' " 



T 



Her Portrait, 



HE night was warm and the porch was 
wide 
And the soft wind wafted the music's tune, 
As a youth and a maiden sat side by side 
9 Neath the witching light of the summer 
moon. 



Said the youth : " There's a maiden I dearly 
love ; 
She's as fair as the daybreak and pure as 
gold, 
With a voice as soft as a cooing dove, 

And a mouth like a bud with one leaf un- 
rolled. 

IOI 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

The gleam of her eyes makes the starlight pale, 
And she 's witty and clever, well-read and 
bred— " 

The maid's cheeks flushed at this glowing tale 
And — " I love you, too " — she said. 



102 



The Conquerors. 

TWO years ago, young Kate Revere 
Was wont to grow most energetic 
On how men cramped the woman's sphere, 

(And here her tones were quite prophetic,) 
But women, casting off their yoke, 

(To yoke a sphere would seem confusing) 
Should show these supercilious folk 
What beings they had been abusing. 

" And what are men!" she said in scorn, 

(I blushed to own I thought them clever, 
And life without them quite forlorn.) 

" To gain more gold their sole endeavor, — 
Mere creatures of their money-bags — " 

(I thought about the cost of bonnets, 
And mine was simply worn to rags, — 

It 's so uncertain selling sonnets.) 
103 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

" While women, all their rights denied — " 

But here her wrongs, of speech bereft her ; 
I seized my chance, said I espied 

A friend afar, and turned and left her. 
Two years went by, and yesterday 

As I was coming from the city, 
We met again : I thought she 'd say 

She 'd been at work on some committee. 

But no. She had a softened air 

And once I caught her quoting Dobson — 
" We shut our hearts — " I could but stare 

As she praised Dewey, Schley and Hobson ; 
Then "our brave boys" (Would heavens 
fall !) 

Her glove was off — a ring ! — " Dear Harry ! 
He was the bravest of them all." 

And women's rights? " the right to marry." 

How mutable are maids, I mused, 

An old remark and often quoted 
With much of scornfulness infused, 
104 



THE CONQUERORS 



By lovers who but lately doted : 
Vet change may sometimes be for best, 

And who could think this one a pity : 
No one, I ween, whom love has blest 

But joys to hear Dan Cupid's ditty. 

And stay — the war we late did wage 

For motives both humane and human, 
May thus be writ on History's page : 

" It freed some men and conquered woman. 
For love and war will aye remain 

Together, with their weapons laden, 
And for each Spaniard Mars hath slain, 

Dan Cupid hath brought down a maiden. 



105 



A Popular Model. 

IF you want to write a novel on an ultra- 
modern plan, 
Here 's a recipe that 's always sure to please : 
Take a very faulty mortal, let him be a clergy- 
man, 
And then show up all his errors at your 
ease. 



He must be both young and handsome ; he 
must have " compelling " eyes ; 
He must worship beauty quite as much as 
good; 
He must have ideas uncommon in the parish 
he supplies ; 
He must suffer when he is n't understood. 



1 06 



A POPULAR MODEL. 



There must be a dashing damsel with a slow 
and wondrous smile, 
In her manners and her maxims rather free ; 
She must have a knack of dressing in a most 
bewitching style, 
And a face 't would make Rossetti daft to 
see. 



There should be an humble sweetheart or a 
patient little wife, 
That your hero may neglect in every way ; 
For the damsel who is dashing is to dominate 
his life, 
And of course the very mischief is to pay. 

Then you add some cynic statements and an 
epigram or two, 
And some pages in a high, poetic line, 
With a dash of allegory, just to help the matter 
through 
And to make the public think it really fine. 
107 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

The world and flesh and devil must all have a 
part to play : 
Lay the scene, of course, in London ; spice 
it well ; 
This seems to be the model that is popular 
to-day, 
And you '11 find you have a book that 's sure 
to sell. 



108 



it 



Les Femmes Sont Difficiles." 



A 



T eighteen, lovely Nell declined 
To be admired for aught but mind, 



At twenty-one she then averred 
She grace and savoir-faire preferred. 

At twenty-eight, un peu /ante, 
She only cared for beauty's sway. 

And now, at thirty, says, forsooth, 
No charm can be as great as youth. 

Moral /. 
Who scorns her present charms may find 
She lives to mourn those left behind. 

Moral 2. 
And when you sue for woman's grace, 
Praise eighteen's mind and thirty's face. 
109 



A Seasonable Reflection. 



IN vain I sigh for shady nooks, 
Or rustic seats by "purling brooks "■ 
Alas ! 't is pity. 
When Fortune's favoured leave the heat 
For gay resort or cool retreat, 
I still must see the dusty street 
And noisy city. 

Still on my clerkly desk must lean, 
Altho' bright visions peep between 

My ledger's pages, 
Of rosy lips and shoulders white, 
Of ardent eyes 'neath soft moonlight — 
How hard for an unmoneyed wight 

This sordid age is ! 

no 



A SEASONABLE REFLECTION. 

For me no moonlit pathways wait, 
Where one may stroll with heart elate 

O'er fond reminder; 
Instead, my evening echoes thrill 
With " Maggie Murphy's Home," until 
I feel it would be right to kill 

That organ-grinder. 

Ineligible I ! for whom 

All mothers wear a look of gloom 

And chill disfavour ; 
And, when I seek the debutante, 
Assign me to some maiden aunt, 
Whose starchy conversation can 't 

Have piquant flavour. 

To change this : here I am, forsooth, 

A tall, blond, rather handsome youth, 

Of princely carriage : 

I 've no lost uncles to return 

And fill my purse, so fain would learn 

Of some fair heiress who would yearn 

For me and marriage. 
in 



Love's Games, Progressive. 

WHEN Prue, a winsome witching maid 
At tennis first her skill essayed, 
I conned its parlance o'er, 
And told her what / thought of love : 
Alas ! no vantage did it prove — 
She voted me a bore. 

Next whist absorbed her active mind, 
I played, too, not to be behind ; 

Led hearts (my suit was long) : 
I stood, then, something like fourth best, 
She cleared my suit, I did the rest, 

Our hands united strong. 

Billiards ensnared my fiancee, 
I loved to watch her eager play, 
Though many a stroke she missed ; 

112 



LOVE'S GAMES, PROGRESSIVE 

The room was a secluded spot 
And oft it chanced the balls were not 
The only ones that kissed. 

Now we are wed. Each pleasant day 
We give to golf. And now we say 

Love's links our lives surround ; 
And, when with caddy and with tea 
She sits at table, home *s for me 

A perfect tee-ing ground ! 



"3 



As Through A Glass. 

THE grimy network of back yards 
On which Her modest window faces, 
Would serve, I think, in most regards 
As type of unattractive places, 

But in the building just across 

That bars her from the sunset's glory, 

One window compensates for loss, 

And gives the scene its touch of story. 

Not that it differs from the rest 

By any skill of architecture ; 
To place the type of all, were quest 

Beyond the bounds of wild conjecture. 

But by imagination 's dower 

The plainest wall is carved and gilded, 
114 



AS THROUGH A GLASS. 

And lovelier far than Giotto's tower 
By Fancy 's Renaissance is builded. 

And when the cooling touch of night 
Stills for a time all thought of labour, 

She waits before she lights her light, 

To watch and wonder o'er her neighbour. 

He has a desk that 's always piled 

With manuscripts in much confusion, 

Where " Heaven 's first law " could ne'er be 
styled. 
As aught but optical illusion ; 

And there he plies a busy quill, 

While to protect him from disaster, 

There stalks across his window-sill 
A Barye lion, cast in plaster. 

Perhaps it is a waste of time, 

Perhaps it sounds a shade alarming, 

Perhaps I should not put in rhyme 

She finds an unknown neighbour cnarming ; 
115 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

But every poet worth the name 

Has written verses " To Her Casement," 

Whether the maid who stirred his flame 
Dwelt in an attic or a basement ; 

And thinking on those miles of lines 
Writ by the Saxon, Gaul, and Hindu, 

What wonder if the Muse inclines 

For once to celebrate " His Window." 

For my own part, I think the Muse 
Shows she 's a being superhuman, 

By singing, just when poets choose, 
The charms of every other woman : 

Or stay — sometimes when we make moan 
O'er hopelessly unsullied papers, 

Perhaps with temper like our own 
She 's taken refuge in the vapours. 

But to our maid. She dreams his name 
And what may be his avocation, 
116 



AS THROUGH A GLASS. 

And who he is and whence he came 
Are splendid themes for speculation, 

For while her drawing-table shows 
Her occupation, wits are nimble 

That eke must guess the work he chose 
Just by the lion as a symbol. 

Perhaps his purse declines to fill 
And so he thinks, the wily mortal, 

The lion on the window-sill 

May fright the wolf without the portal ; 

Or — emblem of Saint Mark of old — 
Perhaps he has a flock in Zion, 

And yet it seems, if truth were told, 
'T is more a literary lion. 

I wonder if He thinks of Her 

And how — and is the outcome certain ? 
It may be that his pulses stir 

At each vibration of her curtain ; 
117 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

And will they meet at last, and wed ? 

And will they prize as precious token, 
And keep, when many years have fled, 

The lion, like their vows, unbroken ? 

And will they grow serene and gray 
Together, safe from all disaster ? 

Or will she find her idol clay, 
Just as his lion is but plaster? 

Or are her tender, girlish dreams 
Destined to find no fond fruition, 

And must she know the roseate gleams 
Of love-light but by intuition ? 

Ah, well ! 't is Fate's affair, not mine, 
To weld their hearts, or keep asunder ; 

But should Fate part them, I opine, 

That Fate for once will make a blunder. 



118 



Good-day, Suzanne. 

{From the French of Alfred de Musset.) 

GOOD-DAY, Suzanne, my woodland 
flower ; 
Art thou as lovely as of yore ? 
I have returned this very hour 

From Italy's enchanted shore. 
I ve made the tour of Paradise — 
Made lover 's songs and lover 's eyes ! 
But what of that? 
But what of that ? 

Before thy house I stay : 
Ope the door wide, 
Let me inside ; 

Good-day, Suzanne, good-day ! 

The lilacs bloomed when first we met. 
Thy gay heart opened like a flower ; 
119 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

Thou saidst : " Thou mayst not love me yet, 

It is not come, my loving hour." 
How for my coming didst thou wait ? 
Who goes too soon, returns too late. 
But what of that ? 
But what of that ? 

Before thy house I stay : 
Ope the door wide, 
Let me inside ; 

Good-day, Suzanne, good-day ! 



1 20 



His Answer. 

WHY do I love you, you ask? Why, 
dear! 

To tell half the reasons would take me a year ! 

For your head's proud poise, and your grace- 
ful walk, 

For the way that you dimple and smile and 
talk; 

For a certain inborn daintiness 

Which shows itself in your mind and dress ; 

For your ready wit with no cynic turn, 

For the charity which I fain would learn ; 

For your woman's heart where all sweetness 
lies, 

For the fearless truth of your loving eyes ; 

For the soul that is pure as the angels above 
you,— 

But chiefly, — I love you, because — I love you ! 
121 



A Steamer Letter. 

DEAR Belle, I hope the day is fair, 
That snugly tucked within your chair, 
You gaze with gay, expectant air 

Upon your fellow-men, 
Who pace the deck with martial tread, 
Or feebly hold an aching head, 
And wish they were at home — or dead, 
Then go below again. 

I wonder how the ocean suits, 

Do you still care for fowls and fruits, 

Or take delight in gowns or boots ? 

Do things look green or blue ? 
Who are the notables on board — 
Have you a Vicomte or a Lord ? 
Are you amused or are you bored — 

In fine, how do you do ? 
122 



A STEAMER LETTER. 



Here we are trying to be gay, 

The B 's gave a big tea to-day 

For Julia H and Lucy K 

'T was very nice and jolly. 

To-morrow 's Mrs. P 's tea, 

But Lucy takes the train at three, 
All these good-byes, it seems to me, 

Are getting melancholy. 

Think how few of the girls you know 
Are left to brave this northern snow, 
While you stroll gaily to and fro, 

In ways Parisian ; 
Remember us when e'er you stray 
In Luxembourg or Bon Marche, 
And come back home to us in May, 

Gowned like a vision. 



123 



The Reason Why. 

PHYLLIS wonders why I love her. 
Thinks it 's strange I do ; 
Now I think the matter over, 
Perhaps I think so too. 



Kittie's eyes are far, far bluer, 
Pinker cheeks has Sue, 

Dimples that would serve to lure 
Saint Antoine, has Prue. 



But Sue sneers at true devotion, 
Prue's engaged to Ned, 

Kittie 's in a great commotion 
Lest she should n't wed. 

134 



THE REASON WHY. 



Girls are almost all so funny ; 

They just make it plain 
What they care for most is money 

Then they 're all so vain. 

All but Phyllis, I discover — 

After all, you see, 
Best of reasons why I love her 

Is — that she loves me. 



125 



Apropos de Paris. 

OF all who e 'er have sung of love, 
Or told how valiant heroes strove, 
No tale than his more rare is 
Who sung of Helen's daring flight 
From Grecian home, in dead of night, 
Lured by the charms of Paris. 

And yet I wot the thing 's the same, 
And at the very selfsame game 

More brave our modern fair is, 
For Paris went to Helen then ; 
Now, lured by Paris' charms again, 

Our Helens go to Paris. 



26 



The Other Side. 

ALL is not gold that glisteneth," 
So truly an old proverb saith ; 
But also should this truth be told, 
What glisteneth is sometimes gold. 

There was Kate at the manor and Rose at the 

inn, 
And both were as fair as a man could e'er 

win ; 
But Kate wore her satins and gay furbelows, 
While muslins and prints were the portion of 

Rose. 
" Heigh-ho ! " said I then, " now which maid 

shall it be ? 
Which will make the best bride for a laddie 

like me, 

127 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

With his fortune to make, 
And a journey to take 

Half the way round the world. 
Zounds ! She '11 wed for love's sake ! ' 



" Not Kate," said I, " surely, the lass is too 

fine 
To share all the hardships 't were like will be 

mine ; 
The wife for a poor man must cook and must 

spin, 
And I think I will call, as I pass, at the inn." 
But Rose tossed her head, — " Faith, my lad, I 

look higher; 
Your pocket 's too empty. I '11 wait for the 

squire. 
He has silver to spare, 
And his coach and his pair, 

And he swears that he '11 bring me 
A brooch from the fair." 



128 



THE OTHER SIDE 



" *T is a journey alone I 11 be taking," thought 

I, 

" But I '11 call at the manor to bid Kate good- 
bye : " 
But scarce of goodbye had I started to speak, 
When the tint of the dawn swift deserted her 

cheek. 
" Were I rich," said I, " dear, I should beg 

you to wed " — 
When she flushed — " I '11 go with you, dear 
laddie," she said, 
" Through the world far and wide, 
I would brave storm and tide, 

And be happy the while 
Were my love at my side." 

I 'm the luckiest lad in the country, 't is sure, 
For my sweetheart is dainty and steadfast and 

pure ; 
And she holds far above the rich gauds of the 

fair, 
The garland of daisies I bring her to wear. 
129 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

So may furbelows cover a love without stint, 
And a covetous heart be concealed beneath 
print. 
Speed, ye hours, in your flight, 
And bring swiftly the night, 

The glad night we shall wed. 
Faith ! the future is bright. 



*3° 



A 



Procrustes' Bed, 

GRECIAN myth tells of a giant grim 
Who treated all alike who came to him 



Beseeching shelter. Them the giant led 
And bade repose upon an iron bed. 

But when the weary traveller was at rest, 
Fast to the bed he bound the helpless guest ; 

And as he woke alarmed, Procrustes said, 
His rule was fixed : each guest must fit the 
bed. 

Off came his legs, if he perchance were tall : 
Racked must he be, had Nature made him 
small. 

So, strained or maimed by this most ghastly 

jest, 
To fit his bed, was shaped each hapless guest. 
»3i 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

And so, methinks, by fickle Fortune led, 
We must conform to Destiny's iron bed. 

Content is he whose limits are so near, 
That he will never dream his way not clear. 

Accursed is he with stunted life and maimed, 
A slave by stern Misfortune foully claimed. 

And what of him who racked 'neath Duty's 

strain, 
Grows into greater stature through his pain. 

So are we all, by some grim sport of Chance, 
Fitted to Fate by force of Circumstance. 



132 



Dear, Tell Me Why. 

(From the Italian?) 

DEAR, tell me why when evening skies 
are gleaming, 
I see thy face in every radiant star ? 
Why has God made thee fair beyond all 
dreaming, 
So that I needs must worship thee afar ? 
O, my beloved, 

List to my cry : 
Tell me, beloved, 
Oh, tell me why ? 



Dear, tell me why the moonlight on the river 
Whispers to me sweet tales of love and thee ? 
133 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

Why thy soft sigh doth make my heartstrings 
quiver, 
Till Love absorbs my soul's entirety t 
0, my beloved, 

List to my cry : 
Tell me, beloved, 
Oh, tell me why ? 



i34 



Ballade of Gay Romance. 

OTHE blithe brave days of the lute and 
lance 
And the skill of the supple blade, 
When curveting chargers did proudly prance 
With never a knight afraid, 
When ever to succour distressed maid 
They vied in their swift advance : 

There was tourney and tryst in each wood- 
land glade 
In the heyday of gay romance. 

When galloping over some drear expanse 

They rode in a border raid, 
When combats were usually h outrance. 
When only the old were staid ; 
When the Fairest, garbed in some rich bro- 
cade 
On all suitors had looked askance 
135 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER. 

Till the Bravest her breast-knot one day dis- 
played, — 
'T was the heyday of gay romance. 

Now we follow the fashion they set in France 

With our automobile parade ; 
He pays the piper who fain would dance, 

And the god of the world is trade ; 

Life seems but a game to be keenly played, 
And we struggle for style and stance, 

And lost is the lilt of the serenade 
Of the heyday of gay romance. 

ENVOY. 
Yet, Romance is a ghost that will not be laid : 

Since Phyllis her favour grants, 
For me is the workaday world remade, 

'T is the heyday of gay romance ! 



136 



A Perplexing Question. 

OF that rich draught which Egypt's queen 
Quaffed smilingly, we often hear ; 
Yet there's a doubt within my mind 
Which nothing that is writ makes clear. 

Perhaps one gleam of prudence lurked 
'Neath mad excess in pleasure's whirl, 

'T was homage to a Roman lover, 
Was it a Roman pearl ? 



i37 



The Game was Whist. 

Rondeau. 

THE game was whist. I played with Prue 
Against Treherne and Kate Carew. 
The girls said they thought whist " such 

fun" 
And then Kate led a singleton. 
I thought Treherne looked rather blue. 

Prue wondered what she'd better do, 
And then led trumps from only two. 
In doubt, she said, *t was always done. 
The game was whist. 

And so it went the whole game through ; 
Kate trumped Treherne's best club, and slew 
His suit of hearts, and yet they won, 
O Cavendish ! O Hamilton ! 

The game was whist ! 
138 



Les Joies Pass^es. 

SIGHTLESS, helpless, oft alone, 
Still her tone is almost gay : 
" Why should I have cause to moan, 
I was happy yesterday." 

" What the future brings to me 
Matters not," she 's wont to say, 

" Since I have the memory 
Of that perfect yesterday." 

If to-morrow chanced to be 

Unto us as her to-day, 
Should we find the memory 

Of a perfect yesterday ? 



139 



In Grand Old Rome. 

Rondeau, 

IN grand old Rome ! — To sing her praise 
One needs must chant heroic lays, 
And my frail lyre, untrained as yet 
To more than dainty triolet, 
Falters in search of stronger phrase. 

In fancy still I thread the maze 
Of Vatican, or tread the ways 

Where Caesar's friends in council met 
In grand old Rome. 

St. Peter's Pantheon-dome doth raise 
Its cross up to the God of Days : 
By Trevi's fount my throat is wet ; 
And in a subtle memory-net 
My soul is backward caught, and stays 
In grand old Rome. 
140 



Colour Studies. 

Blue-gray. 

THE cold gray fog crept up the street, 
(Oh, the world seemed desolate !) 
And Misfortune followed with footsteps fleet, 
(Oh, the world seemed desolate !) 
The zeal of the good cure" grew cold ; 
The maid to the lover's eyes looked old, 
And gloom in firm grasp did each heart 
enfold. 
(Oh, the world seemed desolate !) 

The fortunes men strove to make, they lost ; 

(Oh, the world seemed desolate !) 

And left naught to show for the trouble they 

cost : 

(Oh, the world seemed desolate !) 

141 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER, 

A sinner was caught in the garb of a saint, 
And work grew heavy and love grew faint, 
And distrust crept in with its fatal taint. 
(Oh, the world seemed desolate !) 



142 



Colour Fancies. 

A Brown Study. 

A CHEERFUL room. The fire burns 
bright 
In the wide grate. For stronger light 
A lamp on study-table stands 
' Mid treasures trove in many lands. 
What matters if without is night ! 

A realm of books enchants the sight ; 
On table, wherewithal to write 
For my despotic Muse demands 
A cheerful room. 

Great leather chairs to ease invite ; 
Here one can follow Fancy's flight, 

i43 



LOVE, LAURELS, AND LAUGHTER 

And gazing on those blazing brands, 
What castles rise from fairy strands ! 
This is a region of delight — 
A cheerful room. 



144 



O Sweetheart Mine. 

Rondeau. 

O SWEETHEART mine, the dew lay 
white 
Upon this sleeping rose last night, 
And now as blushing leaves unfold, 
A dewdrop touches heart of gold 
And gently opes it to the light. 

O would that with as gentle might 

Thy heart would open to my sight, 

The while my tale of love I told, 

O Sweetheart mine ! 

Though words of burning love I write, 
The measure halts, the verse sounds trite ; 
The fragrance that these petals hold 
Breathes thoughts more sweet than e'er were 
told. 
Grant their fond message speaks aright, 
O Sweetheart mine ! 
HS 



« Chi lo sa ! " 

THE strings upon the violin lie mute ; 
How can they say 
Till the bow wakes them into song, 

What tune they'll play : 
Whether it be for dance or dirge 

Or wedding-bell, 
Until they feel the master-touch 
How can they tell ! 

What will Life prove — or grave or gay — 

We can but wait 
Till Love shall make our heart-strings throb 

And seal our fate. 



146 



Strategy. 

WHEN E'ER he saw the gay gallants, 
Who danced like puppets at her 
whim, 

He smiled to think no turn of chance 
Could e'er reserve such fate for him. 

He married her. She seemed to view 
All things in lights that pleased him best ; 

So well she planned, he never knew 
He was a puppet like the rest ! 



147 



The Vital Question. 

THE question that seems most perplex- 
ing 
To the sex that is known as the fair, 
Is not suffrage, nor trusts, nor annexing, 
Even tariff would prove far less vexing — 
It is, " What are we going to wear?" 

When the crocuses shyly are peeping, 
And the lilacs are scenting the air, 
When the spring sweetly wakes from her 

sleeping, 
One thought through their vigils they're keep- 
ing— 
" Now, what are we going to wear? " 

When the autumn is spreading her glory 
Of crimsons beyond all compare, 
148 



THE VITAL QUESTION. 

When the winter is chilling and hoary, 
Dame Fashion has still a new story 
Of the frills it is proper to wear. 

When the world that is urbane and urban 
Gives a function with trumpeted blare, 
Comes the wail of the saddened suburban, 
" O horrors ! I've just bought a turban, 
And this is a bonnet affair! " 

O ye fortunate masculine mortals, 

What know ye of cankering care? 
Till they enter the heavenly portals, 
The distracted choir-feminine chortles, — 
" O, what are we going to wear ! " 



149 



The Valentine Rose. 

OH, ho ! " cried Dan Cupid, " what 's this 
that I see ? 
Where notes come with roses 't is plain they 
want me ! " 

And he peeped o'er her shoulder, the im- 
pudent elf! 
To spy out a few lines of the billet himself. 

" Dear Phyllis," it ran, " would that I could. 

disclose 
My heart to your eyes, as doth this happy 

rose, 

" But grant that its fragrance may breathe 

forth some part 
Of the love that I bear you, oh, heart of my 

heart ! " 

150 



THE VALENTINE ROSE. 

And she, as she toyed with the flowers, drooped 
her eyes, 

Saying softly, " The foolish boy — such a sur- 
prise ! " 

But Cupid avers, and we know that he knows, 
That his heart caught her heart in the heart 
of the rose. 



5i 



T 



The Best Authority. 

HEY say that worldly goods and gauds 

Are all that's " worth the while " ; 
They say romance is out of date, 

And love is out of style ; 
They say a bright tiara's gems 

Will solace any throe : 

But Philip, blue-eyed Philip, 

He does not tell me so. 

They say that lovers' strongest vows 

Have proved but brittle things, 
That Love must fly, since Art portrays 

The little god with wings ; 
That youth's fond fancies quickly fade, 

That men inconstant .grow : 
But Philip, faithful Philip, 

He does not tell me so. 
152 



THE BEST AUTHORITY. 

They say that one should only think 

Of lofty birth and place ; 
They say it makes one thrill with pride 

To set the social pace ; 
They say a cottage on the green 

Must be forlorn and slow : 
But Philip, ardent Philip, 

He does not tell me so. 

I let them prate of pride and pelf, 

I care not what they say. 
O heart of mine ! to-morrow's sun 

Shall light our wedding-day. 
Within our cottage, Love, content, 

Shall ever bide, I know: 
For Philip, dearest Philip, 

He says it shall be so. 



i53 



Ballade of Chevy Chase. 

WHEN tourists seek a boarding-place, 
And Congress' session has begun ; 
When looms the much-respected mace 
Where he who doesn't Reed must run ; 
When every shining noonday sun 
Shows to each senatorial face 

'T is Frye-day (pray forgive the pun), 
I hie me straight to Chevy Chase. 

When Fashion sets the social pace, 

And teas and luncheons must be done; 
When public functions bring out trace 
Of many a Hottentot and Hun ; 
When coal is going up per ton, 
When notes are going on their grace, 

All city ways and wiles I shun, 
And hie me straight to Chevy Chase. 
154 



BALLADE OF CHEVY CHASE. 

In fact, in almost any case, 

Unless a rain should spoil the fun ; 
Unless a fog should quite efface 

The landscape, as in Albion ; 

Unless, perhaps, I had not won 
The day before ; unless each ace 

Were mine at whist, the days are none 
I would not hie to Chevy Chase. 

ENVOY. 

Ye golfers ! Daughter, sire, and son, 

Athletic-lovers of our race, 
When you, too, come to Washington, 

You fain will hie to Chevy Chase. 



155 



Love's Pathway, 



LOVE'S pathway is a winding trail, 
Just wide enough for two to tread : 
They wander far o'er hill and dale, 
While Cupid wings his way o'erhead. 

If wayside brambles should annoy, 

Their steps have strayed too far apart ; 

The way is but a lengthened joy 
If lovers tread it heart to heart. 

For those whose souls are pure and fine, 
Kind heaven a magic spell doth send ; 

For by some sorcery divine, 

Love's circling pathway has no end. 



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